"Well!" exclaimed Mrs. Ogden, as a couple more blatant than usual performed a sort of Nautch dance under her nose, "all I can say is, I'm glad I'm old!"
Joan smiled. "Yes, we're not so young as we were," she said.
Her mother protested irritably. "I do wish you would stop talking as though you were a hundred, Joan, it's so ridiculous; I sometimes think you do it to aggravate me, you don't look a day over thirty."
"Well, never mind, darling, look at that girl over there, she's dancing rather prettily."
"I'm glad you think so; personally, I can't see anything pretty about it. Of course, if you like to tell everyone your age I suppose you must; only the other day I heard you expatiating on the subject to Major Boyle. But, considering you know I particularly dislike it, I think you might stop."
Joan sighed. "Here comes the tea, Mother."
"Yes, I see it. Oh, don't put the milk in first, darling! Well, never mind, as you've done it. Major Boyle doesn't go about telling His age, vain old man, but he's sure not to miss an opportunity now of telling everyone yours."
"Have you got your Saxin, Mother?"
"Yes, here it is, in my bag; no, it's not. Oh dear, I do hope I haven't lost my silver box, just see if you can find it."
Joan took the bag and thrust in her hand. "Here it is," she said.